


The Skull of Numinex

by Dunkthebard



Series: Nahlnehviir -  "Living and Never Dying" [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkthebard/pseuds/Dunkthebard
Summary: Chapter one (with hopefully more to come) of the story of my bisexual Archmage of Winterhold and Dragonborn, Castor Sovidir.This takes place directly after the quest "Alduin's Bane," where the Dragonborn learns Dragonrend and defeats Alduin on the Throat of the World. Now Castor must convince Jarl Balgruuf the Greater to allow the capture of a dragon in his palace. While Balgruuf respects the Dragonborn, he is at odds with him in more ways than one.While using some of the main quest story as an inspiration, some of the cannon is ignored, and more detailed backstories and lore are added in.
Series: Nahlnehviir -  "Living and Never Dying" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569034
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The Skull of Numinex

The great hall of Dragonsreach was quiet in the early hours of the morning as Castor Sovidir, Arch-mage to the College of Winterhold, was welcomed through the front gate. His stride was warmed by the bright beams of sunlight that pierced through the high vaulted ceiling. 

It had been so long since he had been to the palace that the guards did not recognize him. He had new scars and had grown a full head of long braided hair in the Nordic style. The years he had spent in Skyrim were beginning to show. 

Luckily, Castor was always accompanied by his huscarl, Lydia Storm-Halter, on his trips into Whiterun. She still had friends and family in the city. She was easily noticed by the men stationed before the drawbridge to the palace. 

The throne of Whiterun stood empty above the long feasting tables, but Castor could hear familiar sounds coming from the loft above. He walked up the well worn stone steps and turned to face the voices. They belonged to the Jarl, Balgruuf the Greater, and two of his advisers. 

Farengar Secret-Fire, Balgruuf’s court wizard, looked as if he had just woken up. He slouched in his chair while he thumbed through a collection of reports and documents. Irileth, commander of the city watch and personal bodyguard to the Jarl, was in the middle of discussing reports of Stormcloak scouts throughout the hold. They all sat around the far end of a long table. Irileth got up immediately when she noticed Castor’s approach. 

Even from across the room Castor could feel the suspicious bodyguard tense up and her hand move slightly towards her blade before she spoke. It took a few moments for her to finally recognize him. 

“Dragonborn … I was not aware you were in the city.” She said. She moved her hand back onto the table. 

“I have just arrived. I decided against teleporting in. Me and Lydia had to depart early from my home to miss most of the midday crowd.” Castor replied. 

“That was wise.” Farengar scoffed. He tried to nod confidently at Lydia. She didn’t notice him. 

“You are always welcome in Whiterun my friend, it still stands thanks to you. I’m sure the people would give you a warm welcome.” Balgruuf said as he forced a smile.   
“I’m sure they would, but the news I bring warranted I travel softly.” Castor spoke in a grave tone. “I need to speak with you privately.” 

Balgruuf’s smile faded. 

“Any important news like that should be heard by-” Farengar was cut off and frozen. He sat completely still. Irileth stood like a statue. Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

“What trickery is this Castor? What have you done to my advisers?!” Balgruuf stood up in a rage.

“A spell I learned from the Psijic monks, your councilors will notice nothing and will come to no harm. I know you think it cowardly, but I must speak with you beyond prying ears, and quickly.” Castor revealed his hand from behind his back. He held a ball of white, pulsing mystical energy in his palm. 

“This!” Balgruuf shouted and slammed his fist on the table. “This is why we distrust your college.” 

Castor sighed. “You mistrust what you do not understand. I am trying to make you understand, and I would not have done this had it not been important.” 

Eventually, after a long, angry stare, Balgruuf sat back down in his chair. “We share a battle bond, you and I,” He said. “That is why we continue to speak.”

“Your temper discredits you my Jarl, it hides the great man lying within.” Castor said.

“Don’t push it, mage.” Balgruuf clenched his fist. “What is this news that is so important that you must use deception to deliver it.”

“Alduin, the World-Eater, has returned to Skyrim. I defeated him once, but now he gathers strength in his lair. It is a place not even magic could locate.” Castor turned to the great doors to his right that led to the balcony that gave Dragonsreach its name.

“So I need your help to find him. The dragons loyal to him will know. Legend says that the high king of old, Olaf One-Eye, captured a dragon and held it through those very doors. I wish to recreate that legend, I will call a dragon here by name and they will listen to my voice.” 

Balgruuf replied, wide eyed. “What you're asking for is insane. Impossible! You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?”

“It's insane but it’s necessary. It’s the end-times, Balgruuf, surely you know Nordic tradition better than I.” Castor knew how to work the Jarl. He had to convince him. It was this or accept defeat. 

Balgruuf did not let up, but he did pause at the mention of the World-Eater. “"There must be another way. The risk is too great!” 

“This is the way. You once told me you cared far more about the dragons than about the war. Prove it. This is the only chance we have to stop this before Alduin returns once more with even greater strength. If your people’s ancient lore is true than he consumes the souls of the dead. This war has been a feast for him! If we wait we will never get a second opportunity.”

Castor pressed the attack. “The ancients faced Alduin in open combat. They slaughtered a horde of dragons and shouted him down from the sky. They fought wars that make this one seem like the squabbles of spoiled children, and they never backed down in fear.” 

He went for the kill before his target could respond. “They would be ashamed of their descendants. You cower from battle and fear a rebel warlord who can barely shout a gate off its hinges.”

Balgruuf’s face grew blood red. He rose and knocked over his chair. “You speak to me as if I am a boy who doesn’t know Skyrim and its people. I was fighting the Thalmor when you were still a suckling child! You’re not a Nord! You know dogshit about my people and this land!” 

“Prove it!” Castor shouted back. 

The Jarl punched him square in the jaw. 

The mead tasted better than anything Castor had drank in a while. It was fresh and cold out of Honeybrew Meadery, delivered for the Jarl’s pleasure. 

“I shouldn’t have struck you, Dragonborn. The Greybreads chose you, and I should learn not to fight men who could kill me with a whisper.” Balgruuf leaned over the loft railing and looked over his household. His daughter was running around the tables as Proventus, the steward, tried to catch her and lecture her about the cost of buying horses out of Cyrodiil. His two sons played with wooden swords. Farengar was attempting to teach history but was getting shouted over as the two boys played warrior. 

The Jarl’s blow took Castor by surprise and he accidentally let go of the spell. The casting took a great deal of concentration and energy to work. Castor had no idea how the Psijics managed such long conversations with it. 

After everyone was released from the spell Balgruuf abruptly walked out without a word. Irileth followed him, but not before Castor had to come up with some false story about the news he was carrying. Above all else Castor didn’t want to spread panic. Whiterun was already on edge. Rumor was the Stormcloaks would take another crack at taking the city soon.

Castor took another sip from his mead bottle and reached out his hand. “No hard feelings. I shouldn’t have gone that far. I just wasn’t sure if I could convince you.”   
“I wouldn’t have won anyway, even if it had been a fair fight. I know what I saw when you drove out those Stormcloak rebels. I’m surprised the Companions haven’t tried to recruit you yet.” Balgruuf shook the hand firmly. 

“I can’t kill you, who would rule? Hrongar?” Castor laughed. 

“Gods that would be a sight. My brother’s temper makes me seem like a priest of Akatosh. I one time caught him yelling and waving his sword at a chicken who plucked at his boot.” The two men laughed for a while. For a moment Castor tried to forget about Balgruuf’s comment about not being a Nord. 

Castor sighed. “Besides, Lydia is the one the Companions want. She’s one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re the Dragonborn, everyone wants you. If those mead hall warriors had you in their ranks the amount of gold they’d make as mercenaries would double overnight.”

“I can’t exactly conduct my duties as Archmage if I’m getting piss drunk and fighting bears all the time.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Balgruuf turned to face Castor directly, but couldn’t seem to hold his gaze. The Jarl looked downward. “So, you saw Alduin with your very eyes?”

Castor shifted his thick, dark brown beard to expose his neck. He traced the red scab of the World-Eater’s claw marks as they ran across the left side of his jawline. “I saw him up close, yes.” 

“Gods above, how did you survive?” Balgruuf was wide eyed. 

“Magic is a powerful weapon if you know how to use it.” There was some inkling of truth to Castor’s words, but he didn’t want to reveal the full story of how he managed to drag Alduin down to that mountain. Deep below him in the earth, in his secret chest, he could feel the power of the Elder Scroll pulse in his mind. It moved with him always. The words of Dragonrend, the gruesome shout made by the ancient Nords, were burned into his brain. 

Castor wondered how Paarthurnax felt when he heard those words. It must not of been easy to watch his brother get ripped from the sky. The World-Eater’s howl of pain as he fell was the most terrifying thing Castor had ever heard. It instantly felt like he had broken some intrinsic law of nature. 

“You are truly blessed by the Gods then, Dragonborn, if your power is that great.” Balgruuf said.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Castor could tell the Jarl looked at him differently now. 

Balgruuf turned back to his bottle of mead and finished it with a long pull. He pointed at the dragon skull above his throne. “You see that skull? It used to belong to Numinex, the dragon that was captured here.”

Castor looked into the eyeless sockets of the massive and imposing head. “I always assumed it was just some dragon killed long ago, brought here to show the power of the Jarl.”

“In a sense that is true, but my grandfather, Jarl before me, told me that Numinex was held here for many years. The only thing more impressive than a full sized dragon skull is a real life dragon at your beck and call. Perhaps your plan isn’t totally insane after all. No one would attack my city if they knew I kept a dragon in my dungeon.”

Castor kept looking at the skull. Its teeth were rotten and crooked. The horns were bent like they were stuck in a cage. “I never knew the dragon’s name was Numinex, not even the historians at the Bard's College knew that.”

“It has been a family secret for generations, but since we are going to have to recreate the legend, I suppose you should know.”

Castor remembered Paarthunax’s words after Alduin fled. He said that the dragon held in Dragonsreach went mad in his captivity, and in the end didn’t remember his own name.   
“Your family has never been gentle to dragons.” The Dragonborn said. 

“Now that I think about it, your plan is more in line with my family’s traditions than anything else I’ve done.” The Jarl said.

Castor looked back at the skull and felt something rise in his blood. A barely contained cacophony of voices screamed in the back of his mind. He felt a bout of fiery rage in his stomach that rose until it was only a whimper in his head. A sadness fell over him as he gazed into Numinex’s dead, hollowed out eyes. 

Paarthunax called him a Dov, a dragon. It had made him feel more at home and accepted than anything the mages at the college said. But the old dragon on the mountain also said he was Kogaan Akatosh, doom-driven. 

Castor realized he had more in common with the skull on the wall than with the man beside him.


End file.
